Ice cream has always been in our freezer. Even when our pockets seemed to have holes we found a way to afford it. At least some of the time. It was never the cheap kind either. Breyer's until they were sold to a less discriminating company, and now Trader Joe's keeps us coming back. 

My aunt said that her love of ice cream is what caused her cancer.

"But it was worth it."

I am not sure if an oncologist would agree but it does confirm that the propensity is in my genes. The trouble is, it makes it hard to fit. In my jeans. 

The twins and I had a ritual of having ice cream while watching our favorite show. White Collar, Leverage, West Wing, Madam Secretary. I even made an apron with brown pockets to hold the scoop, white ruffles, and a green speckled skirt. In homage to our favorite flavors. But as they entered high school they got busier and I started to eat alone. 

Too often.

The notion that sugar was undermining my health was ever in my peripheral vision, but I chose to ignore it. Until one night I had a dream. My father warned me, gently, but firmly, to be more careful. In the morning I knew it was time to redirect my habits. 

I mentioned the intention to John.

"Great!! How do you feel?" he smiled encouragingly. 

I cocked my head. "It's only been four hours."

The amazing thing is, it was not as hard as I expected. At first I wondered what to snack on, but I was more generous with buying berries, and fresh produce. Not a sugar rush, but delicious. My salads became more interesting with nuts and seeds, like back when I was, you know, a health fanatic.

The other night the twins were enjoying the luxury of being home and tentatively asked if we might indulge. I agreed and we snuggled in for vanilla fudge with whipped cream. 

It was good, but not fantastic. 

There was a time when catching up with friends triggered the habit of gossip. Not malicious, exactly, but things I would not say if the object of our discussion were sitting at the next table. At some point I decided to lay off those rambles, which left me wondering what to talk about. But gradually we have moved to more nourishing conversations, and the need to add zingers about who married whom had lost its appeal. 

It would be fair to say my tastes have changed.